Ideal culprits
by Inkfire
Summary: Havoc reigns at the Burrow, and Molly Weasley knows exactly whom to blame for bangs, thievery or any similar offence under her roof. A fic with seven narrators, written for the Perception challenge on The Dark Lord's Most Faithful forum.


**So here is my entry to the Perception challenge, hosted by OnyxRose13 on The Dark Lord's Most Faithful forum… **

_**Perception**_

_**The prompt is perception and the purpose is to examine character biases in the following manner:**_

_**-The piece should be told from the view point of no less than seven narrators**_

_**-Each character should be describing the same event of your choosing**_

_**-The description should be such that it is not possible to tell what really happened until we hear from all seven characters**_

_**-The piece may be a one-shot or multi chapter fic**_

_**-The word count must be at least greater than one thousand but there will be no upper limit**_

_**-It may be written in first or third person**_

_**-It is not restricted to any particular genre, the piece may be humorous, dramatic, angsty, or any unique tone that one can think of**_

_**-Extra kudos for any sort of surprise twist at the end**_

_**The point is to examine how unique personalities and life experiences impact how an individual views reality and delve deeply into characterization and specifically what those factors might be. Additionally this will make for a good exercise in carefully planning how a plot fits together. Best of luck to everyone!**_

**Kudos to Cath for a great (and pretty hard) challenge… God, I can't believe I wrote a kids!Weasleys fic =P**

* * *

"_Oh, come and stir my cauldron, and if you do it right…_"

Molly Weasley hummed contentedly as she waved her wand, her spellwork causing the dishes she had just used to wash themselves. Turning around, she beheld with an intense feeling of self-satisfaction the large chocolate cake she had been baking. Molly prided herself on having many secret talents, the greatest advantage of those being that there was no need to actually demonstrate them. However, her knack for producing delicious food was the most well-known of her abilities, and fifteen years into motherhood, she was starting to accept that her greatest purpose was now solely to get tasty victuals into her seven kids' and her husband's mouths.

Still – there was no use denying that this cake was as good as artwork. But Molly's moment of gratification was disrupted by a sudden bang that ripped a startled shriek from her mouth. This was not a small detonation like the ones she heard often coming from her eight-year-old twins' room, a racket she had eventually gotten used to, tired of investigating to find no evidence and attempting to wrestle the truth from their innocent little faces. This was louder and deadlier-sounding, and it also seemed to come from closer in the house. She rushed out, feeling more and more alarmed.

The drawing room couch was on fire. Molly bellowed in fear, frozen in the doorway; then, realizing that she was left to her own devices to stop the disaster, and that mere shouting would be quite useless, she rushed forward and yelled: "_Aguamenti!_". A cascade of water erupted from her wand, putting out the fire immediately. Molly stood there for a moment, motionless, panting in shock and staring at her ruined couch. For all of the past experience in crisis management her children had provided her with, the flames had startled her greatly, and it took a while until her heartbeat returned to a fairly normal pace.

Discreetly wiping her sweaty hands on her apron, Molly threw a glance around the room. She knew perfectly well that her couch had not just set itself on fire, but there was no trace of a culprit, and she still felt remarkably shaky. Justice would have to wait – until she'd had a glass of milk and a slice of her perfect cake, for instance.

As she returned to the kitchen, Molly thought she heard rushed footsteps in the stairs, but she paid it no mind. She hadn't realized she'd left the door half-open. She went straight for the counter, and froze; she'd been so sure she had left the cake there. Swiftly, she checked the cupboards. No sign of any such treat. As she straightened up, there was a sound like china breaking somewhere.

Molly growled under her breath as she began to understand. There was no doubt about who might have designed such a scheme. She rushed out again.

"_Fred! George!_"

At last, her family was starting to stir with the noise. Ginny was the first to come peering down the stairs, followed by Percy, Ron huddled behind his brother's legs. No sign of her young pair of offenders. Molly shrieked their names again, at the top of her lungs: "_FRED! GEORGE!_"

There was the sound of a door slamming, and George came from outside, glancing innocently at her. "What, mum?"

Molly thrust an accusing finger right under his nose, shaking with fury at his nerve. "None of those innocent looks with me, young man!" she hissed. "Where did you hide it?"

"Hide what, mum?"

"Come with me!" Striding past her son, she stomped out into the garden, throwing looks all around. "Your brother must have concealed it somewhere," she muttered.

"Fred isn't –"

"HA!" Molly rushed forward. There was a shattered plate on the ground, close to the house, with no trace of the cake. She straightened up, glaring. "Here! Look at the proof of your little plot. Where did Fred put the cake, if you immediately ran off to destroy the evidence?"

George blinked up at her, simulating surprise. "I've done nothing, mum," he persisted. "I was –" he trailed off, looking puzzled.

"No believable excuse yet, have you?" Whirling around, she tramped back to the house, leaving the pieces of the plate behind in her fury. Heading straight upstairs, the other children hurriedly standing aside, she barged into the twins' room. Slamming the door of the wardrobe, Fred turned to face her with a huge smile. "Something wrong, mum?"

"Out of my way!" she ordered, fuming.

Despite her best efforts, she could discover no trace of the cake in the boys' room. All of the threats she could think of and the loudest pitch her lungs could manage did not lead the twins to confess where they had hidden it; they played innocent until she finally left, maddened with rage, banning them from stepping out of their room and promising them no dessert until they were old enough for Hogwarts. Downstairs, she was met by a sheepish husband, who listened to her rant about their utter failure in Fred and George's education, made her some tea and assured her that he had fixed the couch, which now looked as good as new.

"What would I do without you, Arthur?" she muttered in uncharacteristic lowness of spirits, her head in her hands.

Her husband blushed a little. "Come on, Mollykins." He kissed her on the ear, and she found herself giggling somehow, pleasantly distracted.

* * *

There was a big, scary bang from the drawing room.

Ron should have been used to bangs, but this one was very loud and very close. He couldn't hold back a high-pitched little scream. Had Fred and George heard it, they would have teased him for ages, the meanies. However, they were probably busy _causing_ the bang. He was safe.

Ron, who had been playing on the floor by the drawing room door, hurried towards the kitchen and his mother's comfort, but as he heard mummy's footsteps rushing his way, he abruptly changed his mind and huddled in a corner, fearing he would be suspected of complicity in whatever the twins had been up to. Mummy sounded appalled and did a lot of shouting once she had entered the drawing room; Ron, frightened, scurried away and took refuge in the kitchen, where mummy would surely return once she was calmer. The smell of cooking wafting from there was delicious enough to console any six-year-old.

For a minute, Ron could only stare from the doorway, wide-eyed, at the majestic chocolate cake on the counter. He came closer, dribbling. They would probably each have a little piece at dinner. A very small one: even with Bill and Charlie off to school, there were still seven of them, but sharing was the good thing to do, mummy always said – though Ron would gladly have shared three quarters of the mouth-watering pastry, and had the rest all to himself. His heart was still beating very fast. Surely it couldn't be so terrible to just snatch away a tiny, tiny piece, merely to taste… Ron stood on his tiptoes.

"_Ron!_"

Again, Ron screamed. His little hands, which had been outstretched as far as they could reach and pulling the plate his way, slipped, and it toppled, narrowly missing his head and hitting the floor with a clatter. Percy stood on the threshold, wide-eyed. Ron's face puckered and tears of panic started burning his eyes.

Percy hurried forward. "Ron, you shouldn't – that's really bad, Ron, really, really bad. But oh, you didn't mean to drop it, don't cry…" His elder brother knelt on the floor, picked up the plate carefully, and gaped in alarm. There was a large crack on the china.

"I would just have tasted a little bit!" Ron wailed. "Just an itty bitty piece!"

"Ron, I believe you, quiet. But…" Percy's brow furrowed as he awkwardly ruffled his brother's hair. Then he took a deep breath, looking shaken. "All right, Ron, lying is very bad, but mum is already upset at Fred and George and you didn't want to do anything wrong. So we're not going to tell her what happened, okay?"

"She'll see the crack!" Ron pointed out. His lip wobbled. "I can't lie to mummy!"

Percy hesitated. "Listen. I'm going to take the cake away. Mum will think it was Fred and George. They're already in trouble, it won't be bad for them at all, I promise, and mummy won't be mad at you. But promise me you won't ever do it again."

"I promise!"

"Okay. Let's go." Percy picked up the plate with the cake still on it, carefully holding the two pieces together, and rushed out, Ron on his heels. The boys hurried up the stairs to Percy's room. There, Ron collapsed on the bed and his eldest on the floor.

"I can get rid of the cake, but not the plate," he muttered, wringing his hands. "So what can I… Yes…" Leaping to his feet, he opened the window and looked outside. "Yes. That's it." Hurriedly, he wrapped the cake in a shirt, and dropped the plate from the window. Ron heard it shatter, and gave a tiny, frightened yelp. "It could have fallen from anywhere," Percy assured.

"_FRED! GEORGE!_"

Percy jumped. "Not caught yet," he muttered. Hastily, he hid the cake in his wardrobe and grabbed Ron's hand. "We have to come down, Ronnie, or it'll look suspicious. Stay behind me if you want."

Ron was so scared by all the shouting that he remained huddled, petrified, against his brother's legs, but thankfully mummy seemed convinced that Fred and George had done the deed, and paid little to no attention to the others. Though guilt might have taken over where fear left off, the thought of the teddy bear that the twins they had once transfigured into a spider was quite enough to promptly ease his conscience. Soon Ginny got him distracted, and he forgot his worries altogether.

They even had yummy pudding for dessert.

* * *

Fred and George, again!

Percy gasped despite himself at the loudness of the explosion this time. It didn't even seem to come from their bedroom, but from lower in the house. Leaping to his feet, he hurried downstairs, in case their mother would need help dealing with things.

This motive deserted his head entirely when he stepped into the kitchen and saw, not mum, but his youngest brother Ron, reaching out on tiptoe towards a cake on the counter, his eyes alight with greed.

"Ron!" he exclaimed, appalled, and the child, frightened, cried out; his clumsy little hands knocked over the plate, which toppled to the floor, nearly hitting him on the head and landing with a fearsome clatter.

Thankfully, their mother was shouting in the drawing room – and whatever she was facing, Percy was sure she could handle it alone. He had a crisis of his own to deal with. Rushing towards his brother, he anxiously checked him over for any injury, first, then knelt to examine the cracked plate. Ron was whining, terrified. He hadn't done anything really wrong, Percy considered. It was all the twins' fault, but if mum walked in on such a scene, all four of them would appear equally guilty to her…

Percy thought fast. The cake had to disappear, it was the only concerning evidence to be found against them. While reassuring Ron, he got up and carefully picked the broken plate, holding it in one piece. Then, holding his breath, he rushed out of the room. The way to the stairs was clear; mum was still busy, then. Hearing her footsteps just as they were reaching his room, Percy all but threw himself and Ron inside and collapsed on the ground, panting. He had to give it to Fred and George, they had quite some nerve to be doing this everyday.

They weren't safe yet. The cake could be dealt with quite easily; the plate, however, was a different story altogether. It had to be found, and found somewhere the twins might have dropped it. Percy's eyes fell on his window, and he straightened up abruptly. If the dish was found _really_ shattered, the odds of anybody suspecting its damage to have been the motive for the thievery, already quite small, would become non-existent… and he had seen George in the garden earlier. Everything fit.

Moving to the window, he noticed that George was, in fact, still there – a safe distance away, and fussing with something in his robes. A trick of theirs, then – Fred caused havoc, and George was found looking utterly innocent, so as to throw off the suspicions. Not that it ever worked. Holding his breath, Percy made sure that his brother was not looking his way, then he wrapped the cake in a shirt he snatched from his wardrobe, tossed the empty plate outside and slammed the window shut, throwing himself back. At nearly the same moment, the screaming started again: their mother, yelling the twins' names. Percy swallowed hard. He would have to come downstairs, it would look suspect if he remained cowering in his room without inquiring after this ruckus…

Once the cake was safe inside the wardrobe, Percy braced himself and marched down the staircase, Ron huddled behind him. Thankfully, mum soon barged into the garden after George, paying little mind to her other children. A twinge of guilt went through him while he watched Ron, already cheered up, start playing with Ginny, then as Fred came down to check on the situation, and expressed his surprise at the mentioning of a cake, almost openly admitting, in the process, that George had set up the explosion, as he would thus have been unable to take the cake as well. Percy turned away and purposefully fussed over the children at this point. He was not as practised a liar as the twins. It wouldn't do to blow his act.

One problem remained, even when it became clear that Fred and George were being blamed for everything and that he and Ron would be safe. The cake was still there, in his bedroom; he couldn't merely leave it where it was, for all of his clothes would start smelling of chocolate, and mum would notice when she washed them. He had thought, at first, that he would give it to Ron and Ginny, yet the pastry was way too big – they would have indigestion. Actually, Ron had seemed to forget about their unwanted spoils altogether, and a reminder was the surest way to see him blunder and thoughtlessly allude to the "yummy cake" in others' presence. Thus, after stating to his father the official version of the events upon the latter's return home, Percy left him to mind the little ones and went back upstairs to face his duty.

The cake had to go, the earlier the better. Percy began eating as fast he could. He was too anxious, at first, to really enjoy it, so the increasing difficulty nearly came as a relief, soothing his guilt somehow. He'd done it all for Ron. He shoved half of the cake down his throat, then some more after dinner. Eventually, it was all gone.

Lying in bed while his stomach ached formidably, Percy wondered whether Fred and George ever felt any such retribution for their mischief.

* * *

When the yelling started, George was outside doing experiments on gnomes.

He had heard the detonation, of course, and worried that Fred was overdoing it and would get them both in trouble. Their bangers were working better and better, and the thrill was such that they were thinking and making up improvements all the time; the excitement was overwhelming, but it actually made them rather edgy and competitive, wanting every idea to succeed and do so immediately, quarrelling about who had taken which initiative and getting annoyed at the slightest relapse in the other's concentration. This was why George had preferred fleeing to the garden to observe the reactions of living creatures and make sure there were no dangerous fumes produced, waiting for the phase to pass, like it always did. Now, however, he was wondering whether his twin could be trusted alone.

As their mother started hollering their names, George stood up resignedly, hid his equipment in the secret pockets of his robes and returned inside, ready to get through the storm next to his brother. As it happened, Fred was nowhere to be seen and mum all but hauled him back to the garden, yelling about a hidden cake. She discovered a shattered plate at the foot of the house, and George automatically looked up. If Fred had set up an explosion to sneak into the kitchen and steal a cake, he could easily have tossed the dish from the window… thus getting his brother in trouble. George shrugged to himself; after all, anything any of them did, they were in it together. He was way more bothered about Fred's carrying out the whole plan without even telling him – perhaps as retribution for his desertion of the room they shared.

Thankfully, as they arrived in said bedroom, George could see that Fred had had the time to shove all of their stuff into the hole they'd made under the floorboards beneath their bunk beds, even slamming the wardrobe door right on time to deflect attention. Side by side, the twins were stronger to get through the unavoidable yelling that followed, but George couldn't wait for their mother to leave, which she eventually did, throat hoarse and eyes infuriated, promising them life-long punishment.

"I suppose I should say congratulations, that must have been short," he said as soon as the sound of Molly's footsteps had died away.

Fred eyed him for a minute. "Yeah," he eventually said, shrugging. "Rather short." For a moment, it seemed that he was about to add something, but he apparently changed his mind.

"So, that cake?" George pushed.

Fred blinked. "Er. Truce over a cake, it is?"

"Sure."

Slowly, the smile spread back upon Fred's features. "Nope. Ate it all."

George gaped. "You little son of a ghoul." He lunged at his twin, and they fell on the floor wrestling, laughing despite themselves.

* * *

The bang came twenty seconds before planned.

At first, Fred panicked and wondered what he'd done wrong. Then he shook himself, realizing that the sound hadn't even come from the _room_; although he had heard it quite clearly, it was coming from downstairs. Fred frowned, remembering his twin's departure earlier: George had stated that he wanted to see the gnomes' reactions to the bangers before they tested them with anybody else closeby, especially the kids. Quite obviously this was an excuse, and a rather bad one at that, but George had been all uppity lately, taking Fred's criticism the wrong way and being ridiculously unfair in his own assessments. Now he'd gone and blown something up, not in the garden, but probably somewhere in the house. Fred rolled his eyes. If their mother got her hands on any of their inventions, he was going to kill his brother.

Fred listened to the screams, panicked at first, then exclusively wrathful. He stiffened, starting to hastily pile up the equipment George and himself were using in their experiments, to get it all safely concealed in the hollow under their beds, but their mother's voice got more far-off instead of coming nearer. Warily, he crept to the door and slightly opened it, peering quickly, then coming out in the staircase. Driven by curiosity, he slipped downstairs on tiptoe.

When he arrived, Percy, scowling, was watching Ron and Ginny run around, nervous-looking but visibly not wary of anything going on closeby. Fred cleared his throat. "Hey, mummy's boy."

Percy's expression darkened even more as he looked up at him. "Congratulations," he said flatly. "I heard mum's curse. You and George put something on fire. Anyone might have been hurt."

"Cool down. I did nothing." Percy snorted, but Fred carried on before his brother could launch into an exasperated rant: "Why did mum go out, anyway?"

"Went after George. She's looking for a missing cake," Percy retorted, turning away.

Fred frowned. "George wouldn't have had the time to set up an explosion, slink into the kitchen and run back out with a cake, all without getting caught."

"Nobody's expecting he did it alone!" Percy threw over his shoulder, walking hastily towards the little ones now.

Fred got back upstairs, thoughtful. No doubt mum would hurry to their room if she found nothing in the garden; he finished hiding the last of their things, and took his pose by the wardrobe, ready to slam its door and look startled and innocent. Not that the innocence show really mattered, to say the truth, for nobody would buy it anyway; all the same, pretences had to be kept. Even if, at the moment, the culprits could probably be found downstairs rather than upstairs…

Just as planned, their mother soon barged into the room with George in tow, searched everywhere and screamed herself hoarse before she had to admit defeat. All the while, George looked amused, though not quite satisfied. Despite his clear success with the explosion, the cake thing must have been puzzling him.

"I suppose I should say congratulations, that must have been short," he said once they were alone.

Fred didn't comprehend at first. And then he realized that for George, the second half of the mischief, the theft of the cake, must have been his brother's doing. Each twin would have worked with the other, without even a preliminary agreement. The idea was all too seductive, and Fred realized that he didn't quite want to deny it.

"Yeah, rather short," he said casually.

A little smile played on the corner of his mouth. The look on his twin's face, half-annoyed, half-admirative, was a welcome turn of events after their earlier spats.

"So, that cake?"

"Ate it all," he lied.

* * *

"It was Fred and George," that was nearly the first thing Percy told him.

Arthur wearily collapsed upon the damaged couch, which creaked ominously under his weight, with a heavy sigh. After a long day's work, perhaps it would have been too much to ask to come home to peace and merriness. But on second thought, there really wasn't that much havoc, if one didn't count the vague echo of Molly's distant yells – and, of course, the state of the couch. Ron and Ginny were playing nicely enough. After all, it was nearly always the twins, the trouble-makers. Percy certainly seemed to think so; he looked quite restless as he blurted the whole story to his father. Responsible, reliable Percy, as self-righteous and stubborn as his mother. Arthur smiled to himself, but the expression was soon wiped from his face as he caught sight, on the carpet, of something oddly familiar-looking, that seemed to have nothing to do there.

Swiftly, Arthur kicked the object under the couch, before any of the children could spot it. He listened distractedly to the end of Percy's narrative, with "Ah"'s and nods at the right places, then, after the boy had departed for his room, decided that since Ron and Ginny hadn't left, he should play with them a little. Entirely by chance, one of Ginny's old Gobstones soon rolled under the couch, and Arthur, instead of simply summoning it, went to fetch it himself like the good father he was. Ginny gave him a wide, bright smile when he handed her the straying ball, showing a missing tooth. Subtly pocketing the other item he had retrieved, he briefly thought that the tooth hag ought to be good to the little girl.

Once he eventually found himself alone, Arthur sneakily took the object from his pocket, and studied it with a growing feeling of unease. He had known from the start what it was, of course, although he had preferred deluding himself thus far; now, however, there was no denying the truth.

What he now held in his hand was a broken fragment of what had been his favourite plaything as of late: a portable item through which Muggles managed to carry their voices across great distances, that he had been through hell to acquire and had carried around in his pocket ever since, examining it with renewed amazement every time he had two minutes of freedom. It had lain there, quite close to the damaged couch. Arthur slowly circled the piece of furniture. With a sinking feeling in his chest, he bent down to pick other pieces that had been thrown here and there.

Well, he told himself firmly, this only meant that his treasure had been lying around in the wrong place at the wrong time, and had paid a great price for the twins' practical joke. That made complete sense. His fingers tightened around the fragments. Fred and George were the culprits, of course – and the destruction of his prized hoard merely an added offence.

After all, there was no way an innocent Muggle artefact could have randomly exploded and set fire to a couch.

Was there?

Blinking rapidly, Arthur shoved it into his pocket again, and went to brew some tea for his darling wife.

* * *

Little Ginny was playing in the drawing room, alone and quite bored.

Scowling at the walls, she wondered dimly where her brothers all were. Regardless, none of them seemed to be wondering the same of her, none of them would come and entertain her. She was getting ignored. Ginny's little lips tightened in outrage, but she did not start wailing. And then, as her eyes were still boredly scanning the room, something on the ground caught her attention.

It had gone unnoticed thus far among the toys that the floor was always strewn with, but Ginny could tell this was something quite different, and it made her very curious. The little girl slipped off the couch and down to the ground, and picked up the object, examining it. It had a bizarre rectangular shape, with a long spike at one end, and many little buttons. She pressed one. It bleeped, and some writing appeared on the tiny screen at the top.

Ginny jumped; but after the first shock, she didn't find the little item much more surprising than any display of magic she had ever seen, and she started pressing the keys merrily. There was more writing, mostly numbers; however, after a while of this game, the object began bleeping in a relentless, distressed way, and eventually went dark. No matter how much she pressed every press-able part of it she could think of, it wouldn't bulge.

Ginny glared at the little thing, that had now fallen from her hands to the floor. Her last chance of entertainment, abandoning her. This just wouldn't do. With a frustrated little cry, Ginny seized it again and shook it hard, pounding it with her little fist, desperately _willing_ it to _work_.

It was getting hotter in her hands. Suddenly hopeful, she looked at it again, but the screen was still blank. And then, it went blindingly bright, and she couldn't hold it anymore without burning her fingers. Suddenly panicked, she tossed it away with a yelp. It fell on the couch, and exploded with a loud blast.

Ginny stumbled backwards and fell. There were flames dancing all over the piece of furniture, licking the fabric, which was starting to singe. The sight of them threw her into a frantic terror, but the more overwhelmed she became, the higher the fire went, higher and higher and_ higher_… Soon the little flames had turned into a roaring inferno, fed by the little girl's panic. Ginny suddenly heard footsteps. Blindly, she ran under a table and curled up there, in a tight little ball, her cheek pressed to the floor.

There was screaming that made her face pucker, her lips tremble and her eyes water, but then there was a curse, a strong smell of burning that wafted down to her, and the silence. Ginny shook. Mummy had saved her, but it wouldn't do to move. The whole disaster was her fault.

However, mummy didn't look for the culprit. She stumbled from the room, and Ginny crawled out of her hiding place, eager to flee. She slipped into the corridor and dashed to the stairs, but before she could climb to safety, there was an almighty screech:

"_FRED! GEORGE!_"

Ginny whirled back around, clutching the banister, and went very still. She heard Percy and Ron come down behind her. Mum threw a quick glance over the group of them, and then she was off in the garden after George. Ginny's legs felt funny, but she knew her mummy believed that she was innocent.

Turning around, she gazed at Ron, who was staring after their mother in wonder as well, and remembered his first magic. It had been the year before, back when she was but a baby. She couldn't recall specifics; merely that it had been a big deal, everybody fussing and going on about how proud they were. She had thought it boring at the time.

She was a big girl now, too – and someday she would even be able to put out fires with a wand and a pretty word like _Akkamenti_.

Ginny grinned giddily, and poked Ron, making him stumble in surprise.

* * *

**If the description on the phone sounded weird to you, keep in mind that this is taking place around 1986… ;P**


End file.
